


Carved into Time

by NoizyKorat



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Conditioning, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Dysfunctional Family, Forced Prostitution, Headcanon, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Murder, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Secret Identity, Shady Employers, Team Dynamics, Unethical Experimentation, head - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoizyKorat/pseuds/NoizyKorat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight young people, all of them met with hard blows of fate, taken in by two more then secret organisations fighting for dominence, with any means possible, with no regards to the damage dealt to reach their shady goals. <br/>Scars, both physical and mental are collected like souveniers, tears and blood flow like rivers, and the only thing they know is, that there is no escape, only a little spark of hope that maybe, maybe one day things will get better, someway, somehow.<br/>Years after years of repeated, cruel conditioning later, that hope long since perrished, each of them suddenly finds themselfs thrown together with a bunch of complete strangers.<br/>Which choices will they make, with whom pledge allience, and where will their decissions lead them in the end?<br/>Nobody can tell how much pain a little bit of happiness should be worth, only the person who has to suffer through it all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Social Theater ~ The Quest and Battle of Life

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is pure headcanon fiction, I stake no claim that it is true to what little is revealed of their past in the original canon works.  
> I stake no claim to the characters or original work, this is fanwork with no infringment intended, and commercial gain never has and never will come from it.
> 
> This piece is inspired by RPGs I used to play with two wonderful players a long time ago.  
> This series was started quite a while ago, but somehow I still couldn't figure out exactly where to go with it.  
> Ideas, prompts as well as praise or constructive criticism are always much appreciated.
> 
> Lastly, this is a self-beta work, so please excuse the mistakes it surely has. If you find some, let me know. Thank you!

Once born, a humans heart resembles an empty, bottomless pit. Therefore life is nothing else, then the quest of filling it up. This is done by all the memories we collect along the way and the countless people we meet, who leave their mark on us, one deep another shallow.  
There will be those we keep close, that will strengthen, protect us and fill us to the brim with their love and the confidence they evoke in us. Some will be there, who simply ignore us, caught up in their own affairs, do nothing for or against us, no matter what you do and how we beg, that will make our resolve crumble and saw doubts. Also there will be these who stand back and watch from the shade in envy of our friends and achievements, throwing stones across our paths to make us tumble an fall, spilling our pit. And finally there will also be the worst, blind to the world by their hate, that will try to tear us down and apart, suck up the very last drop of happiness, in return stuffing us with nothing but pain and despair.  
Not always is it our choice, into whose hands we fall and wether we bloom on friends or break on our enemies. This one may call “destiny” or “fate”, if pleasant. Others might name it “god”, “devil” or maybe even “magic”. Some might blind themselves to this power and deny it´s existence, but it is a sad, though firm fact, that we won´t escape it´s grasp, believe or not, no matter how hard we try.  
This power pushes us around our way of life, throw us from hand into hand until the very end, maybe out of the goodness to spare us the boredom of a good and beautiful life, or maybe out of nothing else, but a sadistic desire for some dramatic entertainment. None of those remaining here will ever know, be that a good thing or a bad.  
Once people and power are done with us, our pit well filled, there comes the time each of us dreads so deeply, namely the death. Upon this time we empty our pit to look at it´s contents, marvel in the happiness or bask in the sorrow, we´ve collected all this time, waiting for something or someone to judge us and our deeds, to show us how to move and begin anew.  
But for that, we will wait forever and ever on, the power´s laughing resounding in our ears, that tells us, that in the end, we´re all just responsible for ourself and remain all alone.  
Now, where will your life go?


	2. Cold Cradle ~ Origin of Brad Crawford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young man, born to well renowned house, in a cold, yet safe environment, suddenly finds himself on the other side of the fence. He has to learn, that pride is a luxury, you can only afford at the far top. A place he desperately resolve to reach, against all odds. For vengence, but also for the love, that has never been enough.

Darkness of a deep impenetrable shade of black, like a curtain of crow feathering clasps me, a tight and heavy cloak, as if were suffocating me. No sound, no movement anywhere, leaving a dense silence, charged with expectation, as it might be when laying on the deep ground of an ocean.  
Meanwhile I´m far enough with this, to wish for myself to be there, anywhere probably, just far away from this horrible place, in this night. Still I am here, in this spartan excuse for a room, reminding of a prison cell, laying motionless on a bed that is barely softer then the floor, waiting, trying not to hope.

A night just like any other recently. That is the exact reason for my discomfort, possibly fear if you wish to say. Rest assured tough, you will never, ever hear this word from me. Only a fool would even think that way that in this place, and for those who do, there is no place in this kind of a life.  
How many nights like this have gone past? I can´t count. Counting would only make me remember things, that'll make it worse. No, I really don´t want to remember all they have already done, neither know what could still be done. It's no matter of choice.

Moments like this make me hate my ability with a passion, much like a volcano, that no single soul would consider me capable of, keeping up a tough facade on any cost. With my father, it feels the same. I damn him into the deepest abyss of hell for the devil and his whole attendance to feast on his rotten corpse. I wish the day of my birth was forever erased.

How many more of these nights might still follow?  
Just as the tiniest spark of hope arises within me, that I may finally be done with, I hear it.  
Footfalls, slow and hard, as the Grandfather Clock's ticking in the salon of my parental mansion.  
How much I miss those quiet days, right by the corner of Garden and Myrtle Street, back on the sunny, sea wind caressed Beacon Hill, a rich kid district in the beautiful East Coast capital, Boston. Those days I may never have considered that stiff, cold place a home, yet now it does seem so much warmer then this horrid place.

He is coming. I can actually feel the malice wavering ahead, wriggling disgustingly into my every pore. Nausea rises, once again anwering that pressing, inevitable question of what he may have in stock. And I know that I won´t fight back. Again.The movement of the door seems so extreme in this tranquillity, as if it were a Hurricane, ripping everything apart. As the flimsy nightgown is ripped off, the cold air bites like a thousand needles of frozen glass, appearing to creep into me and fill me up to the brim, like what else will in only moments.

Now, however much I refuse, post cognitive visions of the recent nights come to hunt me. A rain of punches, my forcibly muffled whimpers and gasps of pain mentally pour down upon me, distorted by images of harsh grips bending joints, sharp nails ripping pale skin, flesh colliding. Above it all lay the blazing pain of tearing tissue and a deep, sadistic laughter, echoing eerily inside my head, clouding my senses. Though back in present reality, hard hands, much like my father´s when he slapped me again, roam about, feel me up, finding spots that make me want to squirm. Slightly chapped lips slide up my neck and jawline. In shock I have to suppress a gasp. What for Christ's sake is going on? This is most certainly not how it´s supposed to be! Though indeed, teeth actually carefully skim my nipples, callused fingertips almost gently brush my thighs and I have to fight hard not to arch my back and gasp. The lips find mine and capture them in a passionate kiss I won´t react to, but neither pull away from. Not that I could. Right? When I can´t stand it any more and reflexively turn my head away, no punch follows, instead a wet tongue traces back down my neck to my chest, turning into a trace of kisses down to my hips. All of a sudden a warm mouth encloses me, drawing a moan I couldn´t fight down, and I won´t even tense as a finger pushes up into me, both getting into motion in the exact same pace. No, this isn´t right, I don´t want this! Why does it have to feel so good? I have to bite my lip hard, as a tongue adds massage to suction and a second finger slips in, twisting and scissoring. Only with a nearly impossible effort I remain still and quiet, but my tremble and quickened breath speak for itself. Once the mouth leaves me, the tongue licks the visible proof of my body's betrayal and wanders yet deeper, quickly dipping into the opening the fingers just left, before pulling back. A sudden tug and I'm pulled into his lap, the strong hands around my hip slowly pushing me down. No pain, nothing hurts, I just can´t believe it. At least I still wouldn´t call this pleasurable. Even that changes though, as those hands, guiding me up and down tilt my hip a little more, push up to meet me, hitting a spot inside me that sends every single nerve ablaze with a feeling I haven´t yet known. Freely moans pour from my lips, resistance utterly useless. In a way, this is even worse then all the brutalizing they had going before. Admitted, I am a control freak, and not being in control freaks me out completely. Not that I´ve had any control over the situation before, but I at least had it over my own body. Now they took even that from me, killing the last spark of pride and selfrighteousness I´ve had left.  
With one of the callused hands wrapped around me, my hips moving on their own accord, going faster and harder each time, it doesn´t take long until I come hard with a lustful scream I sure as hell will never ever forget.  
The moment they lift me off and put me back down on the mattress, I can predigt that this was the last time this happened. No more nightly visits. One part of me was more then just relieved, as it should be, though another was shockingly not that sure after this encounter.  
As soon as the door falls shut behind them, thevdarkness is back to weight me down and for some odd reason the departing footfalls now seem even more threatening then their approach had. Still completely naked, I curl up and hug myself, shivering. Maybe for comfort, maybe against the biting cold slowly taking over. Still deep in shock, realisation of what just happened comes sinking in only slowly. For the first time ever, since as long as I can remember, I allow myself to cry for all I´m worth, or not. I lost again. The battle of will against my father was nearly impossible to win, against the authority of this place, it´d be absolutely deadly, but I´ve even lost against my very ownself.  
In only seconds tears, bitter like vermouth, run down my flushed cheeks in tiny, salty rivulets, mixing with the sweat and semen already staining the sheet. Still in disbelieve, my hand reaches for my belly, dipping into the evidence of my earlier enjoyment.  
Have I really sunken that low already? It seems I´m truly as good as one of them by now.  
Sobbing quietly, the blurry memory of my mother floats back up to the surface of my mind.  
Where are you now? Maybe the Bali sun is kissing your face right this moment I lay here, broken. Do you still think about me sometimes? Always I used hold onto that wish, that little light of hope I have left, like a drowning man clutching a straw. Maybe that's a tad bit oddish, but even though you never even talked to me, I haven´t thought you to hold ill feelings towards me. It might have been that melancholic air of sadness you used to wear, like an expensive perfume, the pain and restlessness in those warm, amber eyes you tried so hard to veil, something in the way how heavy and nearly gentle your gaze felt on me, once nobody could see. Though it might also have been that lingering, faint smile, that never faded from those soft, porcelain features of you which barely anyone would recognize on me today , no matter which hardships you had to bear. I´ve seen father beat you, heard him apply other kinds of violence, had witnessed him humbling and humiliating you, even in front of people, but you never cried, you never complained, you only apologized for things you didn´t do and kept on smiling.  
Even that warm day, in June, 10 years ago, you stood there, ready to leave, the salty breeze of the ocean playing with your hazel hair you smiled. Smiled even broader then ever. Though it couldn´t be seen, I just felt it. That one moment, when your fingertips passed over my cheek like a ghost leaf, your eyes shining just a little bit too much, I knew you truly meant it.  
But until today, I never understood. I didn't understand the meaning of your smile, why you endured all of this, why you never let me come close, why you'd leave me alone in the end.  
Now I know, how I knew nothing, how I was blind in sight and heart. Those long years I believed his lies about your egoism, that what luxuries he could offer were not enough for you, so you´d rather enjoy the whole world´s, believed, that you didn´t want to put up with me, because you found kids an annoying waste of time, even that you hated me for being a psi.  
Right now, right here, I finally see the truth.  
It never was about you, it wasn´t about him either, it was only about me. You must have tried to protect me. He had you know where he´d send me, what would be done with me. You couldn´t stand it, of course. Which mother with the least love for her child would? Certainly he threatened you with doing even worse, to keep you obedient and as far away from me as not to ruin his hard, loveless upbringing, he obviously thought necessary for my success. Sadly, I have to admit to my shame, he wasn´t completely wrong on this. In many a way, I´ve indeed become a younger him and thus earned high respect. Only thinking about me becoming like him must have been so very hard for you to see. Was this what all your frequent nightmares had been about?  
Mother, I´m so sorry. If only I´d learned this earlier I could have eased your suffering so much.  
How I wish now, that I could´ve told you not to worry about me, how I´m strong enough to endure all of that, encouraged you to stand up and fight for yourself, promised to watch your back. You wouldn´t have needed to leave for me, to give yourself into loneliness. It must be so agonizing for you, and even more so, the nescience considering me, suffering, just for me.  
How, just how can I ever make up for this?  
Now, with that storm of thoughts, memories and emotions within me deflating, my tears finally run dry as a new morning dawns outside. Life has to go on, no matter what comes, right?  
So with new insights and goals, I resolutely sit up, wipe my eyes, and get ready for the day.  
A last, scrutinizing glance into the mirror shows me a whole different person then only yesterday. Where there had still been insecurity, was now determination, servility had made way to boldness. I was born anew from within my pains and fears, made invincible, for sure.  
Finally, I know just where I want to go.  
Not only will I reach my father´s expectations, I´ll set whole new standards. I will inspire people and truly move things. Never will I spend my life, crawling in front of Eszett´s Elders, much less the likes of Vincent Crawford. I´ll take them down, one by one, make them pay double for all my kindred they hurt, with nothing less then their miserable lifes. This world will become a better place, through my very own hands, in honour of Ivy Crawford I´ll make her see, that I´m not him, make her proud enough to forget about all the tears she shed inside, throughout those years.  
When the shuffling steps of the instructors on waking duty echo through the corridor and my door swings open, I am already standing tall and ready, giving my salute.  
Swiftly I step out of my cell and know, the horror is over. From today, I can bear with anything.  
By the end of the day I´ll be a free man to stealthily approach my goal, whatever it may take.  
A new Chapter of my life begins...


	3. Sensual Intoxication ~ The Origin of Schuldig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young boy struggles with the daily challenge of caring, not only for himself, but also for his neglectful drug-addicted mother, on a mager income. As if that burden weren't already big enough on him, his mother is already looking for new ways to exploit him. For a hand full of money, and the next shot, hell break lose on him, and before he knows it, nothing will ever be the same again.

Rapidly, rather small feet pounded over slightly uneven ground, spraying gravel left and right. It  
was already well past my due time, so I urged my legs to higher speed. Breathing hard, I raced  
through the trailer park I was to call my home, dragging the heavy shopping bags along behind me.  
This had been my duty for long years already. Actually since things have started getting really bad  
here. As far as I still remember, everything started with another stupid fight Helga, my mother, had  
with her last guy. Gee, what was his name again? Something strange, Norse... Ulf, or Olf maybe?  
Ah who cares. Anyway, Muttern[1] is just so fucking egocentric, that it´d be a wonder if any guy  
ever managed to put up with her for longer. She must have had a serious thing for that one though,  
because afterwards she´d outright refuse reality and only care about drugs any more. If I wanted  
food and a clean place to live in, she made clear, it was my own job to look after it.  
And well, here I am, dragging home what little I can dare to buy from the money I earned, selling  
her home made dope. What else she makes me do for that, you won´t even want to imagine. I just  
hope that she´ll lay off about it at least today, for I still feel sore from yesterday.  
Pushing aside the feeling of disgust rising within me, I allow my steps to slow again, as I reach our  
wagon. Panting hard I fumble with the fugly tin mailbox, which announces, in faded, peelingoff  
letters, “Dietz” to be her and my surname. I refuse to say family name, because that´s certainly not  
what we are. Two envelopes flutter out and with a sigh I pick them up. Surely those are bills again,  
because we never get anything else. Muttern is gonna be pissed, I´m sure.  
Preparing for the usual bitching, I wrestle with the jammed door.  
“Helga[2], I´m back. I have....”, I was just about announcing my presence, hoping she won´t make  
me wait out I the cold for hours as she does at times, when she´s brewing up strange stuff.  
“Jaja[3], shaddap, Elmar. Get yer lazy ass in here, got one waitin´”, she drawled absently through  
the door. Paling, screwing my face up I let out a small, quiet curse, but enter anyway.  
“Right. Fuckin´. NOW!”, she screeched threateningly as I take to long for her, slipping out of my  
boots and coats, intending to put the bags aside as well before. With a little jump, I drop the bags  
right there and hurry to the separee. Damn, you really don´t wanna get that beast of a woman into  
temper, I swear. Last time I did is when I told her after the breakup, that I understand him. Damn, I  
still don´t think my bones healed up correctly, but I ain´t able to change it anyway, so why bother.  
My head´s been a bit strange after that, too....  
I fight down my nausea and enter the room, closing the door behind me.  
Whoever that guy, waiting on the bed is, he´s certainly here for the first time and something about  
him just gives me the creeps. So much about hoping for someone that might just want some little  
touchyplaying kinda thing, which isn´t even that bad I gotta admit for fairness´ sake. Even without  
the voices whispering in my mind, I know exactly, that whatever he has in stock for me, I certainly won´t like it. Guaranteed. Funny that these whispers often seem quite correct about people´s  
thoughts. In this case I can only hope, that they aren´t, because only picturing that already turns my  
stomach. Great, now I´m scared. Fuck, and I thought I´d be hardened already...  
The guy props himself up and gives me a grin that makes my hair stand on end. A dark snarl  
commands me to undress and kneel on the bed in front of my “customer”, as Muttern calls those  
men. Only hesitantly I do as he says, all the while trying to calm my racing heart and swallow the  
thick lump in my throat. Just as I learned during all those times, I try to disconnect all senses from  
my body and sink into pleasant nothingness, which usually helps me to get things over and done,  
without actually noticing anything. To my relief it seems to be working now as well, at least I got  
no clue what he´s doing, barely feel it.  
That didn´t last long though, because suddenly an immense pain, unlike and more intense anything  
I ever felt, rips through my shrieking nervous system. A loud, horrified scream tears from my lips,  
but before it is even halfway out, a huge scratchy hand brutally presses down on my mouth,  
muffling it almost completely. Terrified, I try to wriggle and claw out from under him, but he won  
´t let me, clutching my writs so hard in his other hand, that I can clearly even hear my writs break.  
By now I´m screaming and squirming wildly, tears streaming freely, where I usually refuse myself  
to cry. In my panic, the whispers within my head grow louder and louder until they seem to be  
screaming as much as I am. Distracted by all that, I can neither stop then, nor even hear properly  
what they say. I want nothing more then to be away from under that man, out of his grasp and  
range, that is the single clear thought in my messy head.  
Suddenly I hear a few chocked gasps and at least the active pain stops, his grip on my wrists gone  
lax, as suddenly his whole weight crashes down uppon me. Without thinking at least a moment I  
take the chance and squeeze out hurriedly.  
Just as I am down from the bed, on the other side of the room, pressing frantically into the wall  
against my back, I see the river of blood running out of the man´s nose, who still lays there  
completely still and unmoving. My eyes widen. Shit, that can only mean, he´s... he´s... my god, we  
have a corpse in here! Shitshitshit! Helga is going to kill me, seriously. Damn, just what to do?!  
Within a split second my decision falls. I just gotta make a run for it. Nothing out In the streets can  
be worse then what I already know from this little hell.  
A last deep breath as I slowly, quietly open the door. Of course she noticed anyway. Shit!  
“Fuckin´ bastard! What are you....”  
I won´t even listen, and make a desperate dive for the wagon door instead.  
Her usually lethargic, momentarily furious expressions becomes horrified as I reach for the door  
handle, and she stops short in swiping some white powder[4] together.  
“No!! You idiot! Don´t....”  
The rest was consumed by a deafening “boom” and I was flung out of the wagon with full force.  
In my shock, everything seems to happen, as if in slow motion, yet I still feel as if I´d see nothing  
except for the huge fireball behind me, a couple of flames, somewhere in the corner of my eye, and  
the caravan in front of me, which my face will land in.  
I can´t breath at all for a couple of moments after the collision, but paradoxically the backbounce  
brought me to the ground in a position that allows, no, forces me to watch horrified, how the  
fireball slowly dissolves in a hail of glimmering fragments coming back down and revealing the  
scarce, burning ruins of the trailer I spent the most of my young life in.  
Just the moment I can finally breath again, my sight drowns in tears. No, I do not cry for that  
woman who´s been everything but a mother to me, I do not cry for my home gone up in flames.  
It is solely the immense pain, that drives his unusual wetness to my eyes, willing or not, as I feel  
like my whole body consists of nothing but mushed bones, and bruised flesh. Somehow it might  
even be happiness, triggering this reaction, that seems so awfully odd and atypical to me, asrealisation sinks in, that my personal nightmare has ended this very same moment in those  
scorching flames, presenting me freedom with wings of fire.  
Sirens approach, I hear dozens of people rushing here, but my eyes and body grow unbearably  
heavy. Through a darkening haze of black I see the police, fire fighters and medics rushing in.  
Relief spreads within me and I give in to the blackness taking me in. Finally, I´m safe.  
That thought still rings in my ears, to the last image of strange men in shapeless, white suits  
holding the authorities back, sending them away, most of those puzzled, some obviously.... scared?  
What the.....  
Before I can even think further, I´ve already lost it and eventually black out for good, my last  
thought being something hazy, in the lines of, “Good grief, what do they want?”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]German dialect (Niederbayerisch) for „Mother“  
> [2]Their relationship is so distant, that she refuses him to call her mother  
> [3]Like the english „yesyes“ expressing annoyence, actual meaning like „whatever“ or „leave me alone“  
> [4]Here, she doesn´t have cocaine but white phosphor, which looks about the same, but that stuff is highly explosive,  
> if spread finely in the air, by, for example, a gust of wind....


	4. Heavenly Sacrilege ~ The Origin of Farfarello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serene family is torn to pieces by a horrible secret revealed, a happy life destroyed in an instant. Fueled by desperation, innocence transforms into guilt, by the blood on the hands of young faith, lost forever in the shards of his sanity.

Grey, dismal walls formed a room, dreadfully reminiscent of a prison. The foul smell of dust,  
sweating humans and stale food only added to that impression. The only difference was in the  
sounds of screeching chalk, scribbling pens, hushed conversation and the monotone voice of the  
leader. Somewhere in the back row of the unbearably overheated classroom, someone was even  
snoring in sound slumber.  
Actually, this place was kind of a prison indeed, as I felt at the moment, because not a singe soul  
here, except for that feckin´ jockejit Rhett McGuire, attended out of free will.  
Somewhere in the middle row, far on the outer side I sat, a pale and lanky, brightly red haired boy,  
radiating a gloomy version of boredom, totally uninterested in my surroundings. My eyes were  
turned to the big window, fixed on a healthy green meadow, bathed to the fullest in pure, untainted  
sunshine, but my gaze was unfocused, utterly ignorant to the sheer beauty of a perfect summer day.  
Only physically present, my thoughts were far, far away in much darker realms.  
Right now, I was confused and worried like hell, maybe even a bit angry. It´s been long,  
excruciating weeks, since that fight of my parents I listened into. I didn´t understand much of it,  
but I´m darn sure it was something ´bout me. Ever since, Dad is barely home, and if he is, he is  
awfully quiet for a merry man like him and doesn´t dare to even look at me. Mom though used to  
be the sweetest and prettiest woman ever, but now treats me as if I were a big, fugly bug in her  
glass of freshly made lemonade. Before I used to play with my little Shannondeary after school,  
frolicking, as we rolled about the wide green meadows, that stretch from horizon to horizon here,  
just outside Cork, safe for the tiny blue line of ocean at far. Lately though, Mom ushers her away  
from me, as soon as she even tries approaching me. Shannon is not at all happy about that, and for  
me it´s the worst of it all, because we really share a pretty intense, lovefull bond.  
Somehow, no matter how hard I think, I just don´t get any clues on whatever the heck is wrong, so  
I asked Sister Ruth to help me out and talk to my parents just yesterday. She promised to come  
over today, right after the noon mess. Wonder if she´s still gonna be over, for I always love a little  
chat with her. she´s just Such a wise and gentle person, and sometimes I even wished to be more  
like her, but it just won´t fit. After all I am, clearly, a boy, and that is more then fine with me, just  
to say.  
Wonder what she´s gonna find out. It must have been something very, very serious for them to  
react so extremely, because especially Mom is just such a sweet person and Dad is a very honest  
man, that would immediately tell me off, if I did anything wrong. This really is the pure odds, but  
if anyone´s gonna get anything out of them, then her, and I´d easily entrust her with my life, so what the heck did I even worry about?  
Somewhere outside the bell the church bell rang and around me books were hastily scrabbled  
together and chairs were pushed back. The classroom was already half empty when my desk  
neighbour, Mick Ferrin gave me a poke, frowning and yelling something like, “Heia boi, get y´arse  
up, Molony, de shit´s done”, before he ran after the others. With a little sigh, slowly as if in trance  
I packed up my stuff and left as the last, without as much as a glance to the teacher.  
I was feeling nervous for some reason, as I began my way back home. Ruth must already be there.  
Did she manage to bring them to reason? Maybe they´ll see their mistake and apologize to me. If  
not I´ll at least know what has gone wrong, and maybe work something out.  
Thinking about it I was barely able to bear the uncertainty and my footfalls sped up until I was  
running, nearly flying down the wonderfully green hill to our house.  
When I was just about to open the door, I heard loud voices from the inside and stopped in my  
tracks. Were they fighting? What was going on there?!  
Carefully, I leaned against the door and listened in.  
“....ling ma husband an´ still brazen enough to show up yet again?! How dare..”  
“Alanis, please, this is not about either of us...”  
“Yeh, of course, you´d worry about de boi...”  
“...but Darlin´, I got t´agree, it ain´t fair to h...”  
“What de heck is fair? Cheatin´ on me and bringin´ de bastard in? Ye know I gotta darn big heart,  
but dat´s just too....”  
“Please, try to be reasonable, you´re punishing someone innocent, Alanis, he´s only a child, it´s  
not his sin, it´s...”  
“Darn well spoken, Ruth! Who´re ye to talk, dat boi is yer god damn bastard after all! How could  
ye do des t´ me, Gillean?! Ain´t I enough?!”  
“Please don´t start des again, Darlin´. I told ye hundred times it wassa mistake and begged yer  
forgiveness, really didn´t want any of dis t´happen, believe me...”  
“I ain´t believing any word ye say...”  
“It really is as he says, Alanis. There never had nor will there ever be anything between Gillean  
and me. It was a moment´s weak flesh and clouded mind that led us, but it....”  
“Jus´shut it, will ye! I ain´t givin´ a darn for yer damned reasons! Ye hope forsaken devil shall be  
ashamed of yourself! A darn nun, a woman of god´s and feckin´ some married fella! Dere is no  
freakin´ excuse for dat!”  
I stood there, frozen on the spot, my eyes wide, trembling. Just what did I hear? Ruth and... my  
father?! I´m... their child? No, this must be wrong, I must misheard it. Surely they were talking  
something else.  
My shaking hands felt cold as they pressed the door handle down. Stepping in I forced a thin,  
nervous smile on my lips an tried to act as normal as I could.  
“Mom~, Dad~, I´m home... oh, hey there, Sis´”  
They all froze, obviously not having expected me. Bad sign.  
Mom screwed up her face in what seemed like disgust and turned away, my dad hung his  
shoulders and kept his gaze uncomfortably on the ground. Very bad sign.  
Only Sister Ruth forced a smile on her face and turned to me, trying for innocent conversation to  
ease the graveyard mood hanging heavily in the air.  
“Oh hello Jay, my dear, you´re pretty early today, aren´t you? How was school?”  
“Dis rather late for me, actu...”  
I did not even get to finish, before my Mom´s cold voice cut in.  
“How long ´ve ye been listening?”  
My heart sank.  
“I... I dunno...”, I answered truthfully.  
“So ye did hear...”  
My eyes went wide again and I stumbled back a few steps.  
“B...but it can´t be true.....”  
“It is”  
Shocked silence followed her curt, harsh statement.  
I wouldn´t, couldn´t trust my ears. There was no way in hell this could be true. Dad is such a  
honourable man and Ruth is a woman only to god and Jesus...  
With a last spark of hope I turned my eyes to my Dad, then Ruth.  
“D...Dad... Ruth...?”  
Each of them did merely nod in quiet, eyes cast down.  
With a roar, the whole pent up mountain of despair crumbled and tumbled down upon me.  
I hit my back on the table, hard, when I slumped against it, sobbing and pressing my hands against  
my head. They´d lied to me. They´d fucking lied to me about everything! How could I ever trust  
anyone´s word again? How could I trust god´s word again, being nothing but living prove of one  
earthly representative´s failure? Whom to trust, if not those and neither your very parents?  
No, no, this can only be a nightmare, and I´m going to wake up any minute, that´s for sure...  
Something flashed beside me. Bemazed I turned my head to see a knife laying beside me on the  
floor. It must have fallen down...  
Warily, almost not daring to, I glanced up. If only everyone was smiling now, telling me it was a  
joke... but they still stood like before, Mom turned away, dad deeply guilty and Ruth worried.  
All of a sudden, everything went cold and and still within me, like in the eye of a storm.  
If they still won´t let me wake up, then I will make them!  
With a cry of outrage I grabbed the knife and launched at my Dad first.  
Apathetic, mindless I just kept on stabbing and stabbing around, not even seeing what, or whom I  
was doing, only the spreading, beautiful red, so much like the carpet in the chancel of our church.  
Only a loud, piercing scream ripped me from my dreadful killing trance.  
Shannon, something must have happened to Shannon!  
Immediately my head was clear and I found myself in the kitchen within dead since. Where, where  
was she? A quick look down and I was on my feet with a horrified scream. There my parents and  
Ruth lay, faces down, in deeply dark pools of their own blood, but there, beside them, also lay  
Shannon, her eyes, which I didn´t notice were dulling already wide and horrified, a fresh tear still  
trickling down her pretty, chubby face as the blood, that slowly ceased flowing from a deep chest  
wound.  
“No, Shannon! Shannon!”, I screeched and pulled her into my arms, rocking her against my hard  
chest. “´s gonna be okay sweety, ´s gonna be okay... I promise.... hold ye on...”, I whispered  
comfortingly, biting back tears. Only when I noticed how her body remained as still as a doll, even  
started getting as cold, I couldn´t hold it anymore. Sobbing freey, I wrapped her in that angels  
tapestry, she always carried around, since I brought it back from Sunday School for her.  
It wasn´t my fault, I kept telling myself, it was not me, I did not shed her blood, it was not my sin,  
it was god´s will. A will I couldn´t understand. Why, just way did he let this happen? Was I... bad?  
Until I finally passed out, it could´ve been hours....


	5. Bloody Cross ~ The Origin of Naoe Nagi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is unkind - to some more, to some less. Some have been abandoned by the world, left to themselfs, if not for the saviour leaping to their side, sooner or later bound to become the doom. When friends become enemies, the battlefield is in the mind, for there is no ground to stand on. Who do we turn to now, which price is there to pay, for a little bit of hope?

Voices, in the dark, whispering. No, one voice, only one, rash and deep. Is that you Dad?  
Are you... talking to me? Do you really mean this all? Puppyeyed reaper, worthless murderer,  
filthy bundle of cells and excrements... do you really mean me? Why do you talk like that? What  
did I ever do? How should I have killed Mom? I didn´t even know her! You´re not the only one  
suffering. I´d also have loved to see her face, hear her soft voice, snuggle up to her warm side.  
You, you did all this, but me? What do I have left?  
Nothing besides a shabby, dirtridden apartment, and you, who only drink, beat me and tell me  
how you´d have rather traded her life for mine. I wish you could have, because this life is not  
worth living, not like this.  
No, no, stop that, please Dad! I´ve been a good boy, I didn´t do anything, really! I... I didn´t want  
her to die, really! Dad, please, please Dad... don´t hurt me, please, Stop. STOP!  
Tears that never want to end, knees scraped to the blood, lungs burning like straw on fire, feet  
stinging like a thousand needles.  
How long have I ran, how far? Hours, miles? I don´t know, I don´t care. Where am I? The  
darkness seems colder even then before. Dirt, garbage, asphalt, gasoline. The smell of the city, the  
smell of the street.  
There, again those voices, deep from within the shades. Many this time. Are they laughing?  
Laughing at me? Am I really a freak, a monster like they say?  
Why are you like this? Did I do anything to you? Why should I be any different? You, too have  
lost everything, you too sleep in the cold and dirty, you too eat the leftovers out of the waste. What  
should make me different? Floating trash cans? What should I know about them? That´s not even  
possible! Okay, okay, I take it back, I see it, but what does that have to do with me? I didn´t do  
anything! Why won´t you just believe me? No, I said I didn´t! How should I? Nobody can just  
make things float, you know. Maybe there are Aliens around or something?  
No, no, I´m not trying on kidding you! Why are you so insistent? If it were possible at all, it could  
even be any of you!  
What are you doing? No, you can´t be serious... no, stop it! You´re hurting me, please, stop, I´ll do  
anything! No, please, don´t... Stop, just STOP!  
Bathed in sweat and tears, I yet again wake, screaming, tossing, crying. Just like so many other  
nights. God, I feel so helpless and weak like that. And lonely, since my Oniichans left. Ken,  
Kaze, they were the only friends I ever had. The only people, besides Sister, that accepted me,  
even liked me. They didn´t beat me away, like all the others, they welcomed me with beaming  
smiles and open arms. They did neither freak out, nor ignore it, if I accidently set something on air  
again, they found it cool. They´ve always been there for me, tugging me in in nights like those,  
stroking my back, whispering comforting words until I could sleep again, and held me close due  
the night so I could sleep through safe and sound.  
How many years have they gone now? I haven´t dared counting, same as I barely dare to leave my  
room and yet again face the cruel reality of a world without them keeping me safe and sane. Could  
it have been two years?  
I just hope they´ve been well. They´ve been so joyful and ambitious to finally make it into the J-  
League after all those long years of hard practice they put into their sockerplaying. Really, I do  
wish them luck and success form all the depths of my shady and shallow children´s heart, though  
yet I can´t help being that bit egoistic to miss them with a pain all the beatings won´t suffice to equal. Maybe, maybe one day, if I am a good boy I can see them yet again. So, at least I hope. This  
is the sole light and purpose I live my life on. Pathetic, yes, but that just seems to be me.  
I shiver and pull the blankets closer. Autumn has come way to quickly, this year and the  
temperature fall has been harsh on all the children´s health. I hear soft, but irritatingly persistent  
drumming on the tin of the windowsill. Must be rain. I really hate rain. Every time something bad  
in my life happened, it rained. Spooky, really, just like a curse, but I swear to God, Jesus, all the  
twelve Apostles and even Mother Mary, if you insist, that it´s true. So may I be forgiven, if I get a  
little gloomy in this season now and then, and sometimes a tadparanoid.  
Hush, there, there they are again, voices. They are far away, yet 'I can hear them. And yet again  
they´re different then those from before. Deep and cold, high and pleading, both loud, insistent. A  
fight?  
I can´t, but shiver yet again, though this time from inner cold. Slowly, quietly I slip out of my bed,  
out the door, down the corridor. Are they in the chapel? Yes, they must be, it echoes so eerily.  
There are four voices, one female, the other male. It must be Sister, but why does she argue? No,  
she doesn´t even argue, is that pleading? What is she trying to explain? It´s a good thing, all those  
kids like me can be here, and we are more then glad to be so, who would doubt? And why does she  
cry? Another voice interferes, deep as well, but way warmer and smoother then the others. I feel I  
know this voice, but... what does he say? Why would he be disappointed? Wait, he´s long since  
been here and... Oh my God, Ken, it´s Ken! He´s come back for me after all! Maybe he´s finally  
come to take me with him, as he promised back then. Ken, oh Ken, how happy am I, that I can see  
him again!  
The speeding pat of my little, bare feet over the floor is mirrored by heavier, more agile footfalls,  
as I approach, my heart leaping...  
The scream rings high and clear within the chapel, creepily bouncing off the stuccodesign walls,  
as two pairs of blue eyes lock oceandeep into each other, wided in shock and disbelieve. It is him,  
God, it is him, but now I wish so much it wasn´t. There he stands, my Ken, my friend, my hero,  
claws extended from his hand, that used to pat my hair so gently, which is now dripping with the  
blood of Sister, who lays at his feet in a pool of blood, unmoving.  
I can´t believe this picture painted in front of me, I simply can´t. He used to promise he´d come  
back for me, he´d promised, that he´d always protect me, he´d promised he´d help the orphanage  
out once he made it big. Ken, who was supposed to be the Superstar of the JLeague, living  
happily by Kaze´s side... this very same man stood here, right before my watering eyes, having  
murdered the very same woman, that has tried so very hard, through hell and high water to raise us  
all well.  
He left one, murdered the other and lost the last which´d be himself , of all the people I´ve ever  
loved and trusted in my life....  
I could see, hear, even feel the last of my little world crumble and fall apart. Slowly, the shaking  
that started raiding my body took over to the ground and walls, making them crack and rumble.  
"Nagi...", is the only thing he can manage to whisper, "...gomen", before two of the three strangers  
by his side tug at him, urging him to come follow the third already making the run.  
It´s the cruellest thing I´ve ever heard, as comforting these words may be, as gentle and guilty they  
may sound, but they seem so hollow and so horribly out of place coming from your once smiling  
lips.  
You obey with a last painful look back, leaving me, despaired and lonely, yet again, after you took  
all I ever had, along with every sad, little illusion I span in my mind.  
My weeps and wails were drowned in roars and thunder, as the chapel broke along with me and  
what of my battered and bruised little heart has been left.  
I had only hoped, one of those falling bricks would hit me as well, end my miserable life, but that humble wish was not granted. Just when I calmly faced one flying right at my head, I saw a blur of  
motion on the side of my vision and was grabbed by strong arms. So I was rescued, not by a knight  
in shining armour, but a young man in a creamcoloured suit. That he´d still be my appreciated  
saviour later on, I did not yet suspect the least.


End file.
